lost & found in flyover country

mostly poems. published weekly.

Embedded

There are no empty houses in the city on the hill 
spirits in every pantry, dust of the ages
in curtainless rooms no place to be that is not
pre-occupied with all that came before
the imprint of your boots on the unswept
floor, you are embedded here, you cannot be
otherwise, and no one ever leaves these houses.
No one ever leaves.

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